


Let's go Lions, let's go! *clap clap*

by bagumbo



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bullying, More tags shall be added, caleb will always be a stinky boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 14:02:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18152795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bagumbo/pseuds/bagumbo
Summary: Caleb Widogast has never attended a proper school. Now he's thrown to the lions as he enters the jungle that is public high school.





	1. Ready?

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure where this is going yet but yeah, Caleb in Highschool, joining clubs, making friends.

Caleb stares at himself in the reflection as he buttons up his shirt.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

“Fo- “He fumbles with the fourth. “Four.”

“Five.”

“Six. “

He tugs the shirt down a bit, fiddling with the hem. To tuck in or not to tuck in? He starts to tuck the shirt in, then rips it out of his pants with a sigh. His hands are shaking. His mouth is dry.

“First days of school are always difficult.” Caleb’s eyes snap up to the doorway, sees the Elven features first before it clicked that this was Uncle Yussah. He is dipping a tea bag into a simple cup, blowing at the rising steam of the hot liquid.

“Ja.” Caleb croaks, clearing his throat a bit as he returns his gaze to the mirror. He adjusts his collar. He hears the sound of sipping, a content sigh, then sipping again as he takes a comb and runs it through his hair. “Do I go by Errenis or…”

“Widogast. Your name is Caleb Widogast now.”

“Widogast, ja ok.” Caleb turns and forces a smile. “Ready.”

“No, you’re not.” Yussah takes a long sip. “But close enough."

 


	2. Advanced Chemistry

It is 3rd period Advanced Chemistry when he first speaks to a fellow student beyond quick bouts of “sorry” and “excuse me”.  The class fills up quickly, each table suited for two individuals and he realizes that oh, perhaps they are partnering up? We choose seats here? It seems so, people quick to latch to each other, table after table taken as he stands unsure. Nearly every seat is filled as he scans the room. There is a table towards the back, a small figure’s body hugging the wall close. The seat next to them is empty and he steels himself.

One step.

Two step.

He walks slowly towards the back, stands at the table and looks at the seat. He places a hand on it, swallows with some difficulty.

“Is this seat taken?” Caleb sees the slightest shift of movement from his peripheral vision, feels eyes on him but does not move to meet them.

“…Go ahead.” The voice has a strange pitch and crackles slightly. He sits quickly and turns his gaze to the front of the class. They are silent among the chatter of excited students meeting with friends and making plans for the upcoming lunch. Caleb drums his fingers softly, nearly snaps in an instinct to bring his cat near. But Frumpkin is at home and he is on his own.

It is 12:00 PM. The teacher is not yet in the front. Caleb focuses all his attention on the blank chalk board.

It is 12:01 PM. The teacher is late. Teachers shouldn’t be late, right?

It is 12:06 PM. The teacher has not arrived and anxiety builds in Caleb’s chest. What do you do when a teacher does not come? The class is still chatting, as if the clock didn’t scream class time in session.

It is 12:09 PM when Caleb finally looks at the person seated next to them. He first notices the mask, a thin white linen with a doll like smile printed upon the fabric. Who wears surgical masks? People who are sick his brain supplies. The skin came next, a dark green contrast to the white cloth. Yellow eyes are staring at the wall that the figure is slumped upon.

Caleb has never seen a goblin before. He feels rude for staring because it is now 12:11 PM and he is still taking them in.

“Take a picture, it lasts longer.” The figure mumbles, fabric of the mask moving slightly.

“Sorry, um…” Caleb scours his brain for something to say. “I am Caleb Widogast.” A name. An introduction. Simple enough, he’s done that before. The figure doesn’t say anything and Caleb turns to face the chalk board at 12:12 PM.

“Nott.” The figure croaks at 12:13 PM. Not? Not what? Before Caleb can ask an adult walks in, starts writing their name on the board, and begins role call.

“Nott Brave.”

“Here.” The figure besides him says. Oh! Nott! Caleb can’t help a twitch of a smile. He met someone! 


	3. Lunch Time

Lunch is chaotic. The room is large and crowded and loud, tables filling faster and faster and it all makes Caleb’s head spin. He grips his brown paper bag of a lunch and tries to breathe as others shoulder past his stationary form. He hears a clang, some shouts, a strangely pitched but familiar voice and he looks towards it, sees among the chaos Not picking up remnants of wrapped up food from the floor and piling it onto a lunch tray, scowling as a group of girls laugh.

He feels something rise in his chest, anger? Anger yes and he strides across the room. She is standing by the time he reaches the area and hears the tail end of her voice. It sounds strained.

“-have friends! There just…” There is a smug smile creeping up on one of the girls, blonde and elven.

“Oh? And where are these friends of yours? Or are they right here? Nice to meet you!” The girl is fake shaking an invisible hand beside Nott, the girls around her laughing. Nott’s shoulders are shaking.

“Nott!” He calls out, rushing a bit forward. The girls go quiet and Nott turns to him, eyes wet. He swallows his anger and forces a smile. “I’ve been looking for you! We were having lunch together, remember?” His eyes slide to the elven girl and she seems to flinch under his gaze. “We should find a more suitable spot, Ja?” He tries to burn a hole into the girl’s soul and it seems to work as the girl looks away hurriedly.

“Yeah…” He looks to Nott, sees her eyes look a bit suspicious but she is gesturing for him to follow and what have you done Widogast? Stopped someone from crying his brain supplies.

 He pauses a moment when Nott starts approaching the doors out of the lunchroom but catches up soon enough. She leads him down the hall, around a corner and into a dark room. He tries to hide his hesitation.

 “Mr. Brenatto lets me eat in here…” She doesn’t flick on the main lights, instead shining her phone’s flashlight to show an…. interesting room. The majority of it is empty beyond the stacks of chairs against the wall, a small desk with a high pile of papers, and a slightly raised portion of flooring. A curtain is against the wall and Caleb notice’s the track on the ceiling that said curtains could be moved upon. Nott plugs her phone into a wall, the flashlight beaming up into the ceiling. He sees her shadow more than her being as she grabs a chair from a shorter pile, pulls the mask down, and rips into her food. Caleb follows suit. The chair is, unfortunately, uneven and he finds himself rocking on the uneven pegs, too nervous to attempt a second chair retrieval. Five minutes of silence pass before Caleb thinks to respond.

“That is nice of him.” He says softly, trying not to break the quiet too much.

“Why did you do that?” Nott asks, eyes on him now and piercing. Bright even in the dark, the yellow orbs are searching him. He goes rigid.

“Do what?” He asks, catches himself as the chair pegs decide to jostle him forward now.

“Back in the lunchroom, you didn’t have to lie for me.” She seems unblinking. Intense. “So why?” Caleb opens his mouth, closes it, clears his throat. Why did he intervene? Why risk his extremely fragile position?

Because she gave him her name maybe.

“You’re the only person I know here.” He settles.

“You don’t know me.”

“You’re Nott Brave. You sit next to me in Advanced Chemistry. You told me your name, and you don’t deserve to be shit on by a couple of…. Miststücks, eh- bad girls? Ja, they were bad.” He takes a bite of cheese, chews silently. He looks at her shoulder, as close to the face he can comfortably get at the moment, sees her lose tension before he hears the sigh. Time goes by quietly as they resume their meals.

“Do you want to be friends?” Caleb avoids choking, swallowing hard, ignoring the desire to cough. Her shoulders are tense again. He opens his mouth as she hurriedly mumbles “Sorry um, never- “

“Yes!” He winces at his volume, clears his throat. “Yes, that would um, be nice.” He manages to look at her mouth, sees a slow creep of a snaggle tooth smile appear. Lunch ends with the ring of the bell and a bloom of friendship.


	4. 7th Period Drama

Caleb had entrusted his class schedule into the hands of Uncle Yussah, the social worker, and the public-school system. Every class seemed to fit. Except for one.

He did not know what 7th period Drama would entail and that frightened him. A series of intense conflicts. That is drama, yes? But that’s not a class. A literary piece featuring said conflicts. That is a possibility but he already has a literature class.

It is 2:00 PM when he stands before the door Nott had led him to all but 1 hour and 13 minutes ago. The lights are on this time and noise is already creeping out from beneath the door. He stands there.

It is 2:01 PM. He is late.

It is 2:02 PM. He should walk in.

It is 2:03 PM. What are you doing Widogast? Being a piece of shit, his brain supplies.

“Caleb?” Caleb jumps slightly, spins a bit to see the top of a head. He looks down further and sees his new friend looking at him with…something. “Do you have Mr. Brenatto’s class too?” Her voice sounds…hopeful? Yes, hopeful.

“I um, have 7th period Drama.” Her eyes seem to light up a bit.

“Let’s go then!” Before he can say anything, she is opening the door and the noise is louder and what are you doing Widogast? Going in, apparently. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Brenatto is Yezza's father, just for clarification.


	5. Black on Black on Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why are so many teachers late to their own classes? Because the author says so that's why.

“-king sign up for this shit.” Are the words that reach Caleb first. A girl in loose blue pants and sleeveless shirt is sitting slumped in a chair, arms crossed and scowling at no one in particular. “First they scrap lacrosse and then they pull this shit too.” She continues, eyes locking on Caleb, and the fierceness their makes Caleb’s hair stand on end. He adverts his eyes, follows quickly behind Nott who is quietly taking chairs down from a pile.

“It like totally sucks I know you know that I love art! But Drama should be fun! You can sing-“Caleb sees a blue tail in the corner of his vision and goes a bit rigid.

“If I wanted to sing, I’d gone and signed up for fucking Choir.” The girl’s voice interrupts.

“You never know Beau, you might like it. And if not, it should at least be an easy class, right?” The blue tail is swaying to the sing song tune of the accented voice speaking with the scowling one. ‘Beau’ apparently. Nott sets down two chairs and Caleb waits for her to sit before sitting in the one remaining.

“It’s like public speaking but with emotion and shit. Also, what’s with the get up? You going to a funeral?” The conversation goes still for a moment, Caleb playing with the hem of his shirt sleeve. “Hey dipshit, I’m talking to you.” Nott elbows Caleb and he jumps a bit, before seeing the girl ‘Beau’ staring him down.

“Oh.” Caleb looks down again. “What was the question?”

“Why are you dressed like you’re going to a funeral?” Caleb thinks of his outfit. Black dress shirt. Black slacks. Black dress shoes. Did he wear too much black? “Or are you like a preppy goth?”

“Also, you kind of stink.” He looks up again, sees a blue Tiefling girl under mounds of frills playing with the tip of her own tail. “Like, I sit behind you in Lit and like I wasn’t going to say anything but maybe you should take a shower.”

“What?” Caleb hears himself say.

“You know like you stand under water with soap- “

“I’ve bathed before. Why are you telling me this?” Do I really stink? I showered two days ago.

“Well you should try again is all I’m saying.” She waves a hand, and Caleb is unsure if she is waving away the conversation or his apparent smell.

“That’s not nice Jester.” He hears Nott speak, voice wavering.

“It’s ok Nott.” He forces a smile and meets her eye with some difficulty. But he sees he’s successful in calming her as the goblin nods at him, sitting back against her chair.

“I didn’t mean anything mean by it!” The supposed ‘Jester’ argues, sounding insulted.

Caleb looks at the clock, already knowing the time but asking it where the teacher was. Or the rest of the students. Four people do not make a class, right? It seemed all the other rooms were packed.

The door opens again and he sees several more feet shuffle in and ok here’s the class and he looks up and finds himself staring. There is a half-orc, face marked with a few prominent scars, a girl who looks like she could snap him in half with a single flex, another tiefling, even more colourful and wearing more flare than this ‘Jester’ and the tallest person he has ever seen and he’s not sure what he even is but the pink hair against grey fur is definitely unique.

The teacher is not there, unless the tall one is somehow an adult. But as they each grab chairs, chatting and laughing, Caleb forces himself to look to the ground again, trying his best not to stare at these interesting people.

The speckled grey carpet needs a bit of vacuuming, some food crumbs visible. Probably evidence of his and Nott’s time here. A chair is set on his other side and the person who sits there is dressed in black too and oh it’s the one who could tear him into two. He looks Nott’s way and sees she’s in a similar stance, eyes moving from the floor to the door to the clock and repeat and repeat.

Eight people don’t make a class either, Caleb thinks, especially when the teacher isn’t coming. It is 2:14 P.M. when the door opens and finally there he is. The man, Mr. Brenatto, is a halfling, stout in stature and wearing a brown suit with bright blue and pink striped tie. His face is flushed and he seems to be panting. He ran here, Caleb realizes. The man straightens his posture, smiles, and walks in. The door shuts behind him. Class has begun. 


	6. Syllabus

“Apologies for running late.” The man gives a bit of a hiccup of a laugh, most likely at his own running comment, as he grabs a chair from a pile. Why are there so many chairs? Caleb spends a moment counting the chairs, curious.

One.

Two.

Three.

He reaches twenty-seven when Nott elbows him again. His eyes snap to her, then to the teacher who is looking at him expectantly.

“Are you Caleb Widogast? Are you present?” Mr. Brenatto is speaking gently and Caleb feels himself shriveling under the stares he is not meeting.

“Ja. Here.” He returns to counting chairs, doing his best to finish quickly. It doesn’t take long, the total being thirty-two, including one office chair behind the small desk.

“-you’re here!” He catches the teacher saying cheerily and Caleb nods to avoid seeming awkward again. “So, there are familiar faces here and new faces too. Excellent, excellent. Um,” He opens a briefcase and shifts through the contents before taking out some crumpled papers. He hands them to his right, to the Half-Orc. “Pass around please.” He says quietly. “Now, we’ll cover more in detail expectations and such through the syllabus but an overview for what this class attempts to do is this: Firstly, we teach the mechanics of stage work, followed by memorization of scenes from theatrical works- “

Ok. Doable.

“But most importantly, we attempt to bring out an individuals’ creativity and learn to express emotion in an impactful way!”

Scheisse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short and it's been so long, NanoRama has been a lot. I'll try to do better. Thank you for your time and have a nice day!


	7. Elbowing

Caleb learns several things over the class period, most of which he is sure will not be on a test. Well, pretty sure. He learns the names of the students, corrects in his mind the concept of “Beau” to “Beauregard” and such. He learns that there used to be an art class, which is now gone and the students had to be put somewhere.

He did not learn what “Drama” truly entailed though, not really. So, quietly, with as much stealth as he can, he writes on a scrap of paper:

_What do we do in this class really?_

He tries to elbow Nott, a little nudge, but she jumps none the less. Caleb scans the area quickly but no one seems to have reacted beyond her so he bends and puts it on the ground by her foot, then moves to retie his shoes calmly. When he straightens, she has already opened the paper, eyes scanning it.

I didn’t even see her pick it up, he muses.

He tries not to watch her, focuses on the clock, so close to signaling to all for this day to be over (Hopefully. That is the schedule yes? Nothing after this.)

“…. are you German than?” Caleb looks to the voice and it is Beauregard again.

“Ah, no. Zemnian.” Beauregard is narrowing her eyes at him now and he tries to keep his eyes locked on hers, feels a challenge under her gaze.

“That’s…. I’ve heard of it yeah.” She is still staring at him but he feels an elbow knock against his again and hears the slightest crinkle of paper. He fumbles a bit with pretending to scratch his arm until he feels the slip of paper again. He does not open it yet, the feeling of this stranger’s gaze on him as if she is trying to pry away secrets that do not belong to her. He looks to his feet. “So, what are you doing here?”

“You ask a lot of questions.” Caleb hears himself say, regretting the ice behind the words.

Be warm, be friendly. Stay low.

“Beauregard, you are verging on the edge of inappropriate.” He hears Mr. Brenatto say, voice suddenly tired.

Caleb tunes out the conversation, hears loud noise but doesn’t process the words beyond anger, frustration, exasperation. He opens the slip of paper instead, sees several sentences written then scratched out, messy squiggles that he strains to read. The clearest one is in the corner, squished for lack of room.

**Read plays. Act out scenes. Give feedback on acting. Stuff like that.**

Act. Putting on an act. Lying. So, it’s lying?

That’s doable. That’s familiar.

He elbows her slightly, gives a small thumbs up. He gets an elbow back. 

His elbows are going to bruise, aren’t they? Small price to pay for friendship, his brain supplies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what the deal is with the elbows either. In this fic Zemnian does not equal native German, which I'll expand on later.


	8. Conversational Celestial

The first week is a process of adjustment that for, at least the academic aspect, was easy to assimilate into. The material was either interesting or something he already knew so effort to follow along was only hindered in the participation aspect. For Caleb’s grasp on Common was not firm and his grasp on socialization skills with people his age were rusty.

So,  Conversation Celestial was more difficult than anticipated. Caleb could read entire books in the language, has read several, but then again, they were old and had formal grammar and he did not read aloud so.

So.

It was not until Thursday when the empty desk next to him was filled with a large figure in black and oh it was that girl Yasha from Drama. Caleb fiddled with the page on his text book, trying to grasp the slang section of Celestial. It was easier when translating it to Zemnian. Zemnian had rules and structure, as did Celestial; different rules but rules all the same. Common was a mess, a mix of grammatical rules from various languages mixed in a sloppy pot of unstructured sentences and wobbly pronunciation standards.

“Hallo” He heard the soft voice of Yasha and it was about thirty seconds before the idea that she might be greeting him came to be. He looked up and yes, she was looking at him.

“Hallo.” He replied. “You have not been here this week.”

“Molly and I missed some classes this week, but I’m here now. Did I miss much?” Caleb didn’t know what to say.

“You missed class.” Yasha smiled.

“That was a good joke.” Caleb did not correct the statement. He just fiddled with the page, feeling the slide of paper against his fingertips. Yasha, blessedly, let him be and he returned to looking at the slang chart. What does screwed mean beyond something being screwed shit with a bolt? Why would that be in the modern slang section? Is screwed something else in common?

The teacher is clearing her throat and oh, it’s time to start conversing. A student in front of him passes the papers to him and he takes on and passes it back, looking at the topics of the day and well life just likes to fuck him over doesn’t it?

“Will you be my partner?” Yasha asks and Caleb blinks up at her. “ _I don’t want to talk to someone new.”_ She says, in Celestial and Caleb feels himself nodding. “ _Ok, so ‘Introduce yourself’. Hello, I am Yasha.”_

_“Hello, I am Caleb.”_ Caleb stumbles a bit over the name but Yasha pays no mind.

“ _‘Describe your family’. That’s a hard one.”_ Caleb nods in agreement. “ _I don’t know the word but I live with,_ uh,  _not blood family._ Uh, yeah, _Gustav is the father by law and we are siblings by law not blood and ,_ uh, here.” Yasha scribbles something on a piece of notebook paper and hands it to him. He reads it: Foster Family.

“ _I do not know the word either, but it means that the government gave you a family?”_ Yasha nods.

“ _That is close. I have seven siblings, but I only live with five of them.”_ Caleb waits a beat but when Yasha does not continue he sighs through his nose and thinks the right words.

“ _I live with my not blood Unlce, Uncle Yussah. I have no siblings, blood or not blood.”_ Yasha nods and blessedly does not ask any further questions and Caleb is starting to appreciate the clear-cut dryness of the conversation. Nothing fancy, just basic information.

“ _’Talk about your favorite class’, oh I enjoy the last class, the one with you and Molly and- what’s the word?”_ She scribbles down the word ‘Drama’ under her last word and Caleb nods.

“ _Drama?”_

_“Yes, Drama, thank you. It is fun. I’ve had it every year. I’m not good but it is fun.”_

_“I am sure you are better than me, you have experience.”_

_“I am not good at talking. Or remembering things well so plays are hard. Or coming up with things on the spot. I’m not good. But it’s fun.”_

_“I enjoy Chemical studies.”_

_“Chemistry?”_

_“Yes, Chemistry. I met Nott in Chemistry.”_

_“The little one, yeah? In our Drama?”_ Caleb nods before remembering he’s supposed to speak all his answers.

“ _Yes, she is Nott.”_

_“Are you good at Chemistry?”_

_“I think I am good at it. It has rules that are easy to follow for me. Celestial is harder. Drama is harder.”_ He confesses and it’s so easy, why is he telling her more than required.

“ _You sound fine. And if you’re not good at Drama we can be not good together. I don’t know the smaller word for awful.”_

_“Bad?”_

_“Bad, yes thank you.”_

_“Can we be friends?”_ Caleb says before thinking and he feels ice crawl down his spine. Was this how Nott felt, when she'd asked him? Gods, she's brave. It feels like shit.

“ _Friends?”_

_“_ Ja. Eh yes, I mean _Friends yes.”_ Caleb fiddles with the paper they had been passing and hears a tiny rip come from it. He is opening his mouth to take it back when she gives a nod.

“ _Yes. That would be nice.”_ Yasha gives a twitch of the mouth that Caleb recognizes as a smile and he twitches his mouth back. “Uh, ’ _Describe the food at the cafeteria.’ Oh, that’s easy now; it’s bad.”_


	9. Screwed

“What does ‘screwed’ mean?” Caleb asks Nott later in the darkness of Mr. Brenatto’s classroom. He hears her make a soft contemplative noise, saw her shadowed ear twitch in the light of her phone.

“I mean, like if two people screwed or being screwed over or being screwed in general?”

“There are a lot of definitions to it then?”

“Yeah but like… I guess it is like fuck?” Caleb blinked at her a few times in the darkness, food forgotten briefly.

“I…do I want to know?”

“Well I mean you asked.” Her shadow shrugged.

“It was in my Celestial textbook.” He explained quickly and he heard her snort in laughter at reply.

“So, the textbook question was like ‘Oh Ginny and Bob screwed in the janitor’s closet’? That’s great, I thought Health class was the only one that had fucking in it.” She said through laughter and Caleb couldn’t help but smile along.

“It was ‘Harold felt like he was screwed’.” He clarified.

“Mm hm ‘by Todd’ yeah.”

“So, it means sex?” Caleb continued once her laughter died down.

“Well it could also mean to be uh…. Huh that is hard to explain. You know how someone can have fucked something up?”

“Ja.”

“Yeah so, screwing up is like fucking up so making mistakes. But to be screwed over is… betrayed maybe? Or someone set you up for a bad time? I don’t know.” Caleb made a soft noise of feigned understanding and took a bite of his food. “So yeah, if you see screw just think fuck instead.”

“I will remember that next time I visit the hardware store.” Caleb quipped, smiling in the safety of darkness at his friend’s cackling laughter.


End file.
